


in the architecture of the soul

by ravens_tell_stories



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x18 Despair, Alcoholism, Angst, Canon Compliant Through 15x19, Canonical Character Death, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester Needs to Use Actual Words, Finale What Finale, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, and like he MOSTLY does, at the beginning, at the end, because yknow, but also remember the happy ending!, canon divergence 15x20, wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28413558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravens_tell_stories/pseuds/ravens_tell_stories
Summary: Sam runs a hand over his face. “Jesus… Have you even tried? To bring him back? He’s a Winchester, man, we don’t exactly tend to stay dead.”That hits Dean like a stab to the heart and he stumbles backwards, slamming into the fridge and crumpling to the ground.“Dean?” Sam’s worried, of course he is, because what the actual fuck, but Dean can’t breathe and he doesn’t know if it’s because ofhe’s a Winchesterorhave you even tried.He hasn’t. He hasn’t tried anything. He’s been trapped in his own mind, surrounded by empty bottles and emptier dreams, spewing empty words into empty rooms to try and fill his empty heart.“I don’t-- Jack would have-- he can’t, he-- he’s gone, he isn’t coming back, he’s dead, he can’t--”The voice in his head, the one that’s been tormenting him for weeks, falls silent.A new voice, this one sounding suspiciously like Cas, says, quietly, hopefully,But what if he could?~~the aftermath of the confession scene.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester (background), Sam Winchester & Dean Winchester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 173





	in the architecture of the soul

**Author's Note:**

> soooo... how 'bout that finale, huh? (im kidding please dont talk to me about it im refusing to acknowledge its existence)
> 
> this fic is brought to you courtesy of insomnia and lots of Feelings! it's pretty angsty at the beginning but i promise there's a happy ending!!!! also its around 5k and i wrote it in almost exactly 24 hours, which is the most ive ever written in one day, so like. im proud of myself lol.
> 
> anyways! i hope you enjoy! you shouldnt need your tissues except for like the very beginning, but also if theres anything you think i should put a warning for please let me know! i always write scenes and am like "oh i need to tag this" and then. forget. so if theres anything missing just tell me and ill add it :)
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are very appreciated!

There are tear tracks on his face, long dried and seeping a chill into his skin. There are words echoing in his head, truths spoken like blows to the center of his very being. He’s shaking, he realizes. Curled into himself, the hard press of the wall at his back, stomach and chest trembling and heaving with his desperate attempts to breathe. To regain his footing. To make sense of whatever the fuck just happened.

“Fuck,” he whispers. His voice is torn to shreds, scraping gravel and broken glass into a blender. “Fuck, shit, fuck.  _ Fuck _ .”

It’s a long time before he answers the phone.

He doesn’t remember when it started ringing, but he knows it never really stopped for longer than a few seconds.

“What,” he manages, vision swimming with exhaustion from even just that.

Sam yells at him. He was expecting that.

Sam softens, after a few minutes. He was expecting that, too.

“Dean,” Sam says, in that little-brother voice that says  _ I can feel your pain. Let me help. _ “What happened?”

“Where do you want me to meet you? We need to regroup, plan our next--”

“Where’s Cas, Dean?”

Despite his best efforts, Dean chokes at that. Anything he had been saying crumbles into dust at the tip of his tongue, words failing and breath coming faster and faster.

“Dean?”

He can’t answer.

_ For love, _ his mind taunts him, squeezing a fist around his heart until he feels like he’s going to explode.

_ It wasn’t for love, asshole, it was for you, _ he wants to shout. Words suddenly building up behind his teeth, down his throat, adding to the pressure on his heart, he’s going to die  _ he’s going to die-- _

“I love him.”

Sam is silent.

Dean was expecting that.

“What?” his voice is soft, softer than Dean’s heard it in a very long time. He sounds fractured. Broken.

The tears are coming again, now - hot and fast and they  _ hurt _ , fuck, they hurt, but Dean’s started talking and now he can’t fucking stop.

“I love him, Sammy. He was standing there, and saying all this shit ab-about me, and he said th-that everything I do is for love, and he couldn’t fucking see that I’m right here, I’ve always been right here, he can have me,  _ he could have had me _ , and I--” he gasps. There’s pain welling up in his throat, or maybe it’s bile. He can’t tell. “I loved him. I did. I do, I do - I--”

“Dean, you need to breathe,” Sam says, and yeah, that’s probably a good point. “I can’t - we’re too far, we can’t get to you. I need you to breathe, okay? Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Dean leans forward, retching, throat closing over nothing and everything all at once - he’s still trying to speak, to say all the words he never got to say. He’s begging Cas to stay,  _ just fucking stay _ , but there’s no point.

There’s no point.

He’s already gone.

*~*~*~*

Sam didn’t tell Jack, apparently. Dean isn’t sure how he feels about that.

He already broke down once, though. More than once, if he’s being honest with himself, but the kid doesn’t need to see any of that.

Dean can put on a face. He’s good at that.

“He saved me,” he says, swallowing hard.

_ You don’t think you deserve to be saved, _ the voice in his head whispers.

He ignores it. He’s getting good at that, too.

The three of them are alone, now. In the world, in the universe - other than Chuck, there’s no one else.

*~*~*~*

It’s a long couple of days that follow.

They drive. They fight. They win, eventually.

Dean drinks. He doesn’t feel like they won anything at all.

He dreams of phone calls, of confessions in the dungeon. Of three different types of black goo. An angel blade. Bright light, exploding bursts of blood.

Every morning, he wakes up with a name on his lips.

At first, it’s just the one.  _ Cas, _ he screams silently. But he’s dealt with a lot of shit, and eventually Cas is joined by all the others.

Kevin.

Charlie.

Bobby.

Lisa.

Benny.

Jo, Ellen, Ash.

Dean starts spiking his coffee with whiskey.

He stops going to sleep.

When he gets drunk enough, passes out on the couch after too many hours without sleep, sometimes his dreams are better. Less death, less pain, more…

More standing together in the kitchen while Dean cooks breakfast. More dancing in the library at night. More soft kisses traded in bed on a lazy morning. More game nights with Jack and Sam and Eileen and Jody and the girls--

Just. More.

Inexplicably, those dreams always hurt more, too.

Sam tells Dean he’s going to go meet up with Eileen, spend a few days with her. Dean takes a long, slow drag from his latest bottle - he gave up on glasses a while ago - and nods. Sam watches him, concerned, and pulls out his phone.

Eileen shows up at the bunker a day later.

She’s gentle, concerned, in a way Sam hasn’t managed to be. Dean was expecting her to walk in and kick his ass into gear (or try to, at least), but she takes one look at him, leaning on the wall in an attempt to appear put together, and wraps him in a hug that’s so soft and comforting that Dean almost loses it right there. His eyes well up again, despite how certain he is that he dried himself up the last time he cried, and his knees almost buckle with the waves of emotion crashing through him.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Eileen whispers, not pulling back. Dean can only nod.

She heads out a day or two later to check in on some of the other hunters.

Dean curls back up on his bed, his chest empty. He’s stopped drinking, at least, but it was less to keep himself alive and more because whiskey didn’t do anything for him anymore.

He and Sam fight.

“You have no fucking idea what this feels like, Sam!” Dean shouts one night, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. “How much it fucking hurts!”

“Yes I do, Dean! I lost Eileen, too!”

“You got her back. Ca-- he’s gone. Forever.”

Sam runs a hand over his face. “Jesus… Have you even tried? To bring him back? He’s a Winchester, man, we don’t exactly tend to stay dead.”

That hits Dean like a stab to the heart and he stumbles backwards, slamming into the fridge and crumpling to the ground.

“Dean?” Sam’s worried, of course he is, because what the actual fuck, but Dean can’t breathe and he doesn’t know if it’s because of  _ he’s a Winchester _ or  _ have you even tried _ .

He hasn’t. He hasn’t tried anything. He’s been trapped in his own mind, surrounded by empty bottles and emptier dreams, spewing empty words into empty rooms to try and fill his empty heart.

“I don’t-- Jack would have-- he can’t, he-- he’s gone, he isn’t coming back, he’s dead, he can’t--”

The voice in his head, the one that’s been tormenting him for weeks, falls silent.

A new voice, this one sounding suspiciously like Cas, says, quietly, hopefully,  _ But what if he could? _

It loosens something in Dean’s chest. It scares him shitless, of course it does, because hoping for something has never ended well for him, but…

He takes a deep breath.

Another.

He stands up.

“I’m gonna…” he can’t say it. Not out loud. Sam looks perplexed, but he nods and steps out of Dean’s way.

“Do you need help?”

“No,” Dean says. “Not yet. Give me a bit, alright, Sammy?”

“Okay,” he nods again. “Just let me know.”

Dean takes one shaky step after another, moving slowly towards the library. He pulls a book on angels off of the shelf and collapses into a chair, just breathing for another long moment before he flips the book open and begins to read.

*~*~*~*

It takes a long time. A long, long time, and Dean is close to giving up.

He looks through every book on angels they have. He googles shit, and he goes to the library, and he spends a long fucking time reading about the Bible and the archangels and a bunch of other random shit that mostly isn’t even true.

It’s a last ditch attempt, but he heads to one of Bobby’s old storage units.

The old drunk always had the answers when he was alive, Dean figures, so who’s to say he can’t have them after he’s already dead?

It’s in the third box he opens.

A small, unassuming book,  _ Rituals Of Heaven _ , and Dean almost looks past it before deciding  _ what the hell _ and flipping to a page in the middle

“Angels don’t go to Heaven,” he reads aloud, as he’s taken to doing. It’s wordy shit sometimes, and hearing it helps him understand it. “Or hell, or even Purgatory. Angels, and demons, descend to a fourth afterlife. The Empty is ruled by a being of shadows, inaccessible to humans and monsters alike.”

Dean furrows his brow and scans the next few paragraphs, then turns frantically back to the beginning.

There’s no author listed. The book was transcribed from ancient notes found--

“Son of a motherfucking bitch,” Dean breathes. “Metatron, you dick.”

It takes mere minutes for him to close up the storage unit and bring the book back to the Impala to look through it more thoroughly.

There, in neatly typed print on an old yellowing page, is spell. Simple ingredients, or at least things he knows they have, and an incantation to recite, some blood, a bit of spellwork, and then… that’s it. That’s all it takes.

“Motherfucker.”

He needs a minute to breathe. It’s been months since Cas died, and now, here he is, the answer sitting in his hands. It’s fucking overwhelming. He pulls out his phone and dials by pure muscle memory - he can’t see through his suddenly watering eyes.

“Sammy,” he croaks when the line clicks through. “I found it. I got it. I can-- I can bring him back.”

Dean draws in a long, shuddering breath, a wide smile playing over his lips.

“I can bring Cas home.”

*~*~*~*

There’s still shit to do before they’re ready. Sam makes Dean come home, and shower, and eat, and sleep. They pray to Jack to let him know, and a minute later he calls Sam’s phone.

“How?” He’s frantic, desperate. Dean realizes, suddenly, or remembers, that Jack is still a child. Cas may have been Sam’s best friend, and Dean’s… everything, but he was also Jack’s father. He takes the phone out of Sam’s hand.

“An old spell. We’re talkin’ ancient. Old enough that it was written the same time as the angel tablet. I don’t know where it came from, but the old Scribe - Metatron - wrote it down someplace. It was found years later, and written into a book that eventually our old buddy Bobby got his hands on. I found it in his shit. It’s easy, and doesn’t even risk anyone’s life.” He pauses, lets relief and love leak into his voice. “We’re gonna bring him back, kid.”

Jack sniffles. “‘Kay,” he says, and  _ fuck _ he sounds so young. “Do you need anything? From me?”

“Nah, we got everything right here in the bunker. But he’s gonna wanna see you, if you wanted to stop by soon.”

“Of course. I need a bit to organize everything, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Alright. We should be all set up in a few hours, and the ritual itself won’t take longer than forty-five minutes. If you aren’t here by then, we’ll call you, alright? Let you talk to him, at least.”

“Okay.” Jack pauses. “Thank you, Dean.”

“I’d say anytime, but I don’t really want your dad to die ever again, so…”

Jack laughs at that, a wet, hopeful sound. Dean hands the phone back to Sam to sign off for both of them and goes to start gathering ingredients.

They get everything ready. A few different types of flower, some sort of powder with one of those old, witchy names Dean doesn’t want to think about, an angel feather. Blood scraped carefully off of Dean’s green jacket.

Sam reads through the process and raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything. He knows it’ll work.

“Where--” Sam starts.

“The dungeon,” Dean says, knowing what the question was going to be. “A rift already opened there. Plus, it’s the last place he was.”

“Okay,” Sam agrees.

He mixes the ingredients, adds a fuck ton of water. Sprinkles the blood on top and says the first half of the spell.

There’s a blinding flash and a puff of smoke. When it clears, the potion has turned to thick sludge, dark red and cool to the touch.

Dean rolls one sleeve up and dips his other hand into the mixture, smearing it onto his forearm in something that’s not quite an Enochian banishing symbol. Sam does the other arm, this one similar to a summoning sigil, and then there’s a few awkward minutes of standing there waiting for it to dry.

Finally, Sam deems it ready, and picks up the angel blade they’d brought down with them. He looks to Dean for a second, an apology in his eyes, but they’ve done worse to each other with less on the line. Dean nods, reassuring, and Sam carefully sets to work.

When he’s done, the backs of Dean’s arms are bloody and open, thin slices spelling out CASTIEL - on his left arm in Enochian, on his right in English.

Sam leads him to drip blood into the bowl still mostly full of sludge (which - ew) and then sits him in the chair in the middle of the room. The bowl is set in his lap, the paper with the rest of the incantation is put in his hand, and then Sam is closing the door behind him and leaving Dean alone in the empty room.

Dean breathes.

He smooths the edges of the paper. Scans the lines scrawled there.

He lets himself sit for a second longer, and then he begins to read.

This is the trickiest part of the spell, the book said. Sure, anyone could summon any angel or demon back from the empty, but the only way to really ensure they’d never get called back was to tie their grace to a human soul.

Basically angel marriage, the transcriber noted in the margins of the book. Combine the magic (check) with an existing emotional bond (double check), plus some good old fashioned prayer (getting to that one), and that’s that.

He finishes the incantation and lets the paper flutter to the ground, shutting his eyes and tipping his head back as pure energy begins to crackle along his arms.

_ Cas, _ Dean prays,  _ Cas, please. I need you to come back to me. Come home. I’m so fucking sorry, Cas, I’m sorry I never asked you to stay. To stay with me. I’m sorry I made you feel like this - me - like I was something you couldn’t have. If I could go back, man, I swear I’d tell you every single day. You can have me, Castiel. You already do, honestly, you’ve always had me. I don’t… I don’t want to say this to an empty room, Cas, please, just come home— _

“Cas,” his voice breaks, pure emotion laced through a single word. The most important word in his own personal lexicon. “Cas, come home. Come home to me.”

His arms are starting to burn, sparks of lighting flickering off of him in waves, and his eyes are watering with love and hope and pain.

The lights above him explode. His ears pop. The pain in his arms spikes suddenly and he arches into the air, writhing in his seat, and then—

Everything stops, silent.

A rattling cough fills the air.

Dean opens his eyes, blinking through the darkness, and can just make out a lone figure slumped on the ground in front of him. Every atom of his body is aching and sore, but he pushes it back and slips out of his seat onto the stone floor.

“Cas?” he asks, reaching forward with one trembling hand. “Is that— is it you? Are you okay?”

The silhouette heaves with another cough, head tilting slightly up. Dean can just make out the blue of his eyes.

“Dean?” Castiel whispers, and then he crumples.

*~*~*~*

Cas sleeps for several days.

The first hour or two is on the dungeon floor. Sam comes in once it’s quiet, wrapping Dean’s wounds and wiping up the potion sludge where it spilled onto the floor, while Dean sits by Cas’ side and waits for him to wake up.

When it’s late enough that Sam is thinking about what to feed himself and Dean, he drags his brother to his feet. Together, they half-carry Cas to Dean’s room, stumbling down the halls, and tuck him into Dean’s bed. Sam doesn’t question it. Dean is grateful.

Sam heats up some hashbrowns from the freezer and fries an egg on top. Dean, curled on top of his bed beside Cas, tries to refuse.

“He’d want you to take care of yourself,” is all Sam has to say before Dean is reaching for the plate and scarfing it down.

Cas sleeps through the night, and the next day, and the day after that. Sam cooks all their eggs and everything in their freezer, so on the third day he tells Dean he’s going to the store.

“I’ll be fast,” he promises, casting a nervous glance in Cas’ direction. “Call me if he wakes up, alright? He’s more important than eggs.”

Dean nods and curls in closer to Cas’ back.

Every once in a while, Cas gets restless. He tosses back and forth, snuffles around, mutters grumpily. The first couple of times, Dean thinks he’s waking up. By the fourth time, it’s almost painful to watch, knowing it isn’t a sign of anything.

Around the tenth time, he’s starting to find it kind of cute.

Sam returns less than an hour after he left, barging into Dean’s room with Jack in tow.

“Hello,” Jack whispers.

A ghost of a smile washes over Dean’s face. He ushers Jack closer, pulls him into a hug.

“You don’t gotta whisper, kid,” he tells his son. “He’s out cold. You think you could check on him, make sure everything’s working properly?”

Jack nods eagerly and reaches over Dean to press one hand against Castiel’s forehead. His own brow creases with effort for a moment, then smooths with relief.

“He’s alright,” Jack says, grinning. “He should be waking up soon. His grace… it’s weaker, almost, but also… stronger? I’m not sure how to describe it. It’s confusing.”

Dean smiles for real this time, fingers brushing soothingly through Cas’ hair. “Yeah, about that. Part of the spell, uh--”

“It’s… entwined with a soul-- your… soul?”

“Yeah,” Dean huffs half a laugh, turning to watch Cas when he makes a sleepy, discontented noise. “Coulda dragged him out without it, but this was written in as insurance. You bond an angel and a human, and the Empty can’t take ‘em anymore. Ever again. Even if he died again, he would just go wait up in my heaven.”

A large smile blooms across Jack’s face, and he looks… young, again. The way he probably always should have looked. It suits him, happiness.

“You saved him.”

Dean swallows and drops his head to rest on Cas’ shoulder. “I saved him,” he agrees in a whisper.

“Jack, why don’t we go make something to eat? Dean will let us know when he’s awake.”

“Okay,” Jack nods easily. “Can we make pasta?”

The two of them head out into the hallway, their voices fading as they debate whether pasta is a lunch food. Dean presses his nose into the juncture where Cas’ neck meets his shoulder, breathing deeply in time with the angel and smiling softly when he squirms as if ticklish.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dean mutters into his skin, pressing a soft kiss onto his neck and tilting his head to stop himself from breathing on Cas.

It’s only moments later when he stirs again, making Dean frown. These moments when Cas seems almost awake have happened often, sure, but there’s always been at  _ least _ an hour between them. Sam and Jack had left barely ten minutes ago, meaning it’s been less than a quarter of that.

Cas rolls onto his back, jostling Dean a few inches across the bed, and slowly blinks his eyes open.

“...Dean?” he rumbles, voice deep and rough from disuse and painted with confusion - but still fucking perfect.

“Cas,” Dean grins, and for some goddamn reason now he’s biting back tears. “Cas, you’re awake, holy fuck--”

“I don’t understand, what - Dean, how am I--”

“Cas, I swear I’ll explain everything in a minute, but can I please fucking kiss you?”

It’s almost comical how far Cas’ eyes manage to widen, and for a brief second Dean’s almost afraid he’d read everything wrong and just fucked everything all the way up, but something in his gaze must be earnest enough because then Cas is nodding, lifting himself half of the way, hesitant and eager all at once, and Dean’s leaning the rest of the way in, and--

Their lips press softly at first. Barely more than a brush against each other, just a light tap, but it has Dean damn near vibrating out of his skin, and then he’s pressing further, licking along the seam of Cas’ lips and he’s never tasted anything so good, so pure, so fucking  _ Cas _ , and holy  _ shit _ .

They pull apart with deep, gasping breaths, partly because wow, breathing is hard, and partly just because  _ wow _ .

“Wow,” Dean says, and then mentally rolls his eyes.  _ Eloquent, Winchester. Great fuckin’ job _ .

Cas’ eyes are still wide as hell, and yeah, maybe Dean should have let the guy wake all the way up before pouncing on him like that, but he hadn’t exactly been  _ unenthusiastic _ .

“What, um, what do you remember?” he asks after another few minutes.

“Huh?” Cas answers and okay, so it’s kinda comforting that he’s also having trouble using his words.

“I said I’d explain everything. How much do you remember?”

“Um,” his brow furrows in the cutest fucking way and Dean has to physically restrain himself from leaning in to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose. “I remember… summoning the Empty. Telling you I-- about my deal. And then the Shadow spoke with me, briefly, and then put me to sleep. There was… nothing, for a long time. Just absolute emptiness. And then I started t-to dream.”

Dean tucks his head onto Cas’ shoulder. “Good dreams or bad dreams?” he asks, even though he’s pretty sure the hitch in Cas’ breathing probably answered that already.

“I don’t know. Both, I guess. I dreamt of… you. And Sam. Of what you did after I…”

“Oh.”

They’re silent. Dean can hear pots banging in the kitchen, and he feels guilty to be keeping Cas to himself, but at the same time he’s not sure Cas is put together enough to handle Sam and Jack. Not yet, at least.

“You died,” Cas says suddenly. “In my dreams.”

Dean starts at that. “Oh,” he says again, quieter. “How did I…?”

Cas hesitates, absentmindedly petting at Dean’s arm. “Vampires,” he answers eventually. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“You and Sam took on a nest by yourselves. One of the vamps shoved you onto a… a piece of rebar. You wouldn’t let Sam help, and… you died. You went to heaven, and Bobby was there, and he told you I was there, and you got into your car and you drove. And Sam lived out the rest of his life. He got married, had a kid - named him after you - and, eventually, he died too. The two of you reunited in heaven. I,” he pauses again. “I wasn’t there.”

Dean lets it sit for a moment, considering.

“That’s the dumbest fucking shit I’ve ever heard,” he finally says, craning his neck to look at Cas. “No, seriously, what the fuck? All the shit I’ve been through, and a  _ nail _ is what gets me? I don’t buy it.”

Cas shrugs as best he can in his awkward position. “Well, less a nail and more a giant piece of pointed metal, but--”

“Hey,” Dean cuts him off, leaning in to rest his chin on Cas’ arm again. “I’m still here. No nail, no rebar, no nothin’. Just me. And you. If, uh, you’d want to stay with me. Here, I mean.”

Cas falls silent, considering Dean for a long, long couple of minutes.

“I think that I would like that.”

Dean grins. “Yeah?”

“Yes. On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You follow through on your promise and tell me what the hell I missed.”

Dean laughs, louder and sincerer and  _ better _ than he’s laughed in a long time. Ever, maybe. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

*~*~*~*

By the time Dean’s brought Cas up to speed (in between a few more lazy kisses that kick Dean’s heart rate up to dangerous levels), the smell of waffles is drifting through the bunker. They climb out of bed, both dressed in boxers and t-shirts, and Dean throws his dead guy robe into Cas’ face as they make their way towards the kitchen, bickering and laughing quietly.

Jack and Sam both fall silent when they see Cas in the doorway, and then there’s a flurry of movement and Cas suddenly has an armful of Nephilim-turned-God, Sam hot on his heels, and Dean figures  _ fuck it _ and jumps in too, so when the smoke alarm goes off a minute later they have to scramble out of their weird group hug to stop the waffles from burning.

All in all, it’s a damn good day.

Cas confirms that he still has his grace, and it still works - and they discover as a little added bonus that Dean can somehow  _ feel _ it, getting a weird tingle in his chest whenever Cas uses his mojo.

Jack can’t stay long, unfortunately - the ruler of heaven has some grueling hours - but he magics up some pizza for them and gives each of them a hug before he leaves.

Sam heads to bed not long after that, hugging Cas as well and giving Dean a pat on the shoulder as he passes.

“So,” Dean starts, seated at the kitchen table several minutes after Sam’s gone. “We should probably talk about, y’know. Us.”

Cas tips his head forward in acknowledgement but stays silent.

“You, uh… y’kinda dropped a bomb on me back there, buddy,” Dean rubs at the back of his neck. At Cas’ visible confusion, Dean continues, “With your deal. And… the Empty.”

“Oh,” Cas murmurs, shifting as if he’s embarrassed. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable--”

Dean rolls his eyes so hard it hurts and reaches out to clasp Cas’ hand firmly in his own. “You didn’t make me  _ uncomfortable _ . You think I woulda asked to kiss you earlier if I had been uncomfortable? I just meant that you…” he sighs. This is gonna be fucking torture for him, but he has to get through it. For both their sakes. “You surprised me, man. I didn’t ever think that you could feel the same way as I do - hell, I wasn’t even sure you could feel that sorta thing at all - but you didn’t even give me time to process it, man. I-I couldn’t even say it back, and then you were gone, and you said  _ forever _ , and I didn’t think I could get you back, and--”

He gasps a deep, shuddering breath. Cas is rubbing his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand, and it soothes him, centers him. He snorts under his breath. “Shit. Sorry. Didn’t mean to get emotional like that. But you… Cas, you told me that I-- that loving me is your happiness.  _ Me _ . What the hell am I supposed to do with that? I’m the reason you lost everything. I’ve broken you, and this entire fucking world, too many times to count. I don’t even--” Dean swallows thickly. “I couldn’t save you. From the Empty. How the hell can you-- you’re an  _ angel _ . How the hell could you love… me?”

Cas is silent for long enough that Dean expects him to get up and walk away. When he speaks, he clutches Dean’s hand closer to him from across the table and twines their fingers together. “I told you already, Dean. You… do you remember what Chuck said, before? He told me that I am the only version of myself to have ever fallen from heaven. In the millions of universes he created, there was only one Castiel that became just  _ Cas _ .” Dean looks up at that, brow furrowing and a question on his tongue, but Cas cuts him off. “That isn’t something you did on purpose, I don’t think. The suffix of my name,  _ -iel _ , literally means ‘of God.’ When you gave me this new name, you effectively erased the part of me that was only capable of serving heaven. I fell for you, Dean. And despite what you think, that isn’t a bad thing.

“Because of you, I have learned what it means to be human. I know how to love. I meant what I said when I told you that you changed me. Everything I am now, everything I have, I owe all of it to you.”

Dean doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas reaches forward to wipe the tears from his face.

“I love you,” Cas tells him, like it isn’t fucking world changing. He says it the same way he’d say anything, with that quiet certainty and says there’s no room to argue.

“I--” Dean stutters over it, tripping over his own tongue, but he’s defeated God him-fucking-self, he can say--

“I love you too,” he whispers, and fuck. It feels… freeing. He’s said it before, told Sam dozens of times, but saying it to Cas, watching his eyes light up behind a sheen of his own tears - that’s pretty fucking special. “I love you, I love you, Cas, will yo-- will you stay here? With me? Please. Cas. I’m sorry I could never say it before, I’m sorry--”

Cas slips around the corner of the table to sit on the edge of the bench next to Dean and takes his face in his hands.

“Of course I’ll stay with you,” Cas says, pressing it like a prayer into Dean’s skin. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

They kiss, and it’s messy and uncoordinated and teary and fucking beautiful, and every time they pull away for more than half a second they whisper more “ _ I love you _ ”s into the quiet of the bunker kitchen, over and over and over until it’s irrefutable.

Dean loves Cas. Cas loves Dean.

Undeniable facts of the universe. Not every universe, apparently, but theirs. This one. In this universe, they are in love.

And they are together.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed and it was a satisfying ending <3


End file.
